Devil on the Lake (Silver Lake Prep)

ONE

DANTE

Fall decorations line the halls of Silver Lake High School in a riot of oranges, reds, and yellows. Halloween is almost here. My friends shoot me smirks as I walk by and I nod to them in return.

On any given Friday night, my friends are all out at the trails where Phoenix Murphy and I race dirt bikes. He usually beats me, but I give him hell every now and again. We don’t consider ourselves part of the jock crowd, but people tend to flock to us anyway. Riding through uneven wooded trails at 65 miles per hour gives us an air of danger and allure that attracts people to guys like us.

This Friday is different, though.

It’s Mischief Night. Halloween falls on a Saturday this year.

The whole school is buzzing with the energy a weekend of chills and thrills promises to bring.

Each year, a legacy is passed down amongst the students of our prestigious private school from generation to generation to keep traditions going. When Mischief Night and Halloween fall on a weekend, we all party at a private campground on the lake within Ridgeview, Colorado’s swankiest gated community, Silver Lake Forest Estates.

Everyone knows about the party, but only the chosen few are told of what else happens. This year it’s fallen to us in our senior year to carry out the legacy. All the plans are in place. My gaze locks on my chosen victim. The prank we’ve organized is the perfect way to get back at that stuck up bitch for what she did to me.

Willow stands at her locker up ahead, staring down at a note. She balls it up in her fist and swings her glare to me.

We always seem to be aware of each other.

She’s impossible to miss with her shoulder-length hair dyed pitch black with a bleached platinum blonde streak framing her face, the velvet choker she’s never without, the fishnets wrapping her long legs beneath her green plaid uniform skirt, and the heavy black leather Docs she stomps around school in. The two of us are like oil and water—except after she got me suspended last year for cheating, someone took a goddamn match to light us aflame.

“This is getting really fucking old, Dante,”

she spits at me. Her fist shakes in my face, crushing her note more. “I’m sick of your shit.”

No one pays us much attention. Our verbal sparring is a daily occurrence. As long as faculty aren’t around to write us up, we’re left to go for each other’s throats.

“Just like I’m sick of your face, goth girl.”

The corners of my mouth curl at the infuriated noise that leaves her. My attention falls to her plump lips, always painted a matte shade of pig’s blood or something. It’s kind of hot. I’ve definitely pictured her mouth wrapped around my cock a time or two when I rub one out. Shame she’s such a raging bitch towards me with an axe to grind.

The hatred I harbor for her is mutual. Still, I can hate her and think she’s sexy as hell. A fantasy in my head is all it will ever be.

I lean against the locker next to hers, invading her space. “You coming this weekend?”

She huffs out a dismissive laugh. “To your stupid camp out in the woods?”

“It’s tradition.”

“So? Like I care.”

Her lush mouth tugs into a frown and she lowers her voice. “I don’t know.”

Triumph bubbles up in me, but I keep my expression disinterested. “Come or don’t. I doubt we’d notice—you’ll blend right in with the decorations Luna made. I sent her a pic of you as inspiration for them.”

They’re sick. My buddy Ryder texted me photos of the creepy dolls we plan to hang from the trees around the edge of the lake. Ryder and Luna are in charge of all of our decor. Luna Bishop is the best artist in our school, no doubt.

Willow’s nose wrinkles and a scoff escapes her. “You’re such a dick. One with big festering sores.”

She twists her face into a pained grimace. “Sorry, but it’s incurable. Doctors recommend remaining celibate so you don’t spread it to others through sexual transmission.”

A few girls stop in their tracks to stare between us because Willow had to raise her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. They hurry off, whispering behind their hands. One of the football guys passing drags out an ohh into his fist.

“Real cute.”

I glare at her and lock my jaw.

She tilts her head, giving me a toothy grin. “Aren’t I?”

The smile falls and she shoves past me, the brief touch leaving a weird burning warmth in its wake. “Out of my way. Unlike you, I actually care about my grades. No cushy trust fund to fall back on, not that you’d get what that’s like. I’m late for class.”

“Your dead poet’s society, right? Reading all that symbolic shit when really it’s about crying in the shower?”

I’m not letting her walk away without putting her in her place for the crotch rot comment.

She lifts her middle finger up without looking back, green plaid skirt swishing to highlight those tantalizing legs in fishnets. “Go play in the mud with your motorbike, Dante. Leave the intellectual nuances to those of us who understand them.”

My teeth grind as more tittering laughter sounds in the hall and people shoot me looks. Fuck her. My withering glare tracks her annoying, tempting ass until she disappears around the corner, then I stare down anyone who dares to keep snickering at me like I’m the butt of the joke.

Fine, goth girl. You won that round.

But the war will be mine once and for all this weekend.

“Dude. What’s up with you?”

Phoenix stops at my side, slouching against the lockers.

People usually mistake us for twins with our similar dark hair. Mine’s shaved on the sides while his is a thick mess, and my amber eyes are much lighter than his bottomless dark brown ones. We used to roll with it growing up to see how many people we could trick.

I shake my head. “Fucking Willow Stewart. She’s dead meat, P.”

His head jerks with the force of his snort, sending his dark hair flopping over his face. “Forget about her.”

I tried. Not happening.

“Whatever. You ready for how sick this weekend will be?”

The corners of my mouth lift at the thought of the shit I have planned for the party and for my prank. “We’re gonna be goddamn legends.”

Phoenix smirks. “We already are, brother. The race last weekend crushed both of our personal best times. Thought I was going to lose control of my bike, but damn, we did it.”

He taps my shoulder with the back of his hand as he tracks Luna through the hall. She pauses to give him a bright smile and a wave before the girls with her tug her along. A soft sigh leaves him and he rubs at the center of his chest like it aches.

He’s been attached at the hip with his best friend Luna since they were babies, but when you grow up together it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. A smirk tugs at my mouth. Poor bastard still hasn’t figured out why he’s all out of sorts over her yet.

Shaking my head again, I clap my hands on his shoulders and steer him around in the opposite direction for our next class.